


troubled spirits

by republica



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Norse Myths & Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:36:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/republica/pseuds/republica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gyda can't sleep. then she finds out athelstan doesn't know anything about their myths, so she decides she ought to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	troubled spirits

**Author's Note:**

> because gyda and athelstan being friends is adorable 
> 
> i put off posting this bc i dont actually know that much about norse myths so i hope this isn't blatantly wrong or anything.  
> but i did look up norse constellations, so that bit is (semi)historical!  
> also, i don't know for sure if monks would know greek myths. there have been some manuscripts discovered that are copies of the illiad/aeneid, but from much earlier and farther east... so call it an artistic liberty?
> 
> (possibly part one of a gen fluffy series bc i have lots of cute ideas)

            “Athelstan,” comes a very shy whisper, and he blinks awake, sitting up. It’s Gyda, standing uncertainly at the edge of the now smoldering fire. “Are you awake, Athelstan?”

             He sits up. “Yes. Are you alright?”

        She looks nervous and sad. “I had a bad dream.”

            Athelstan’s not sure what to say. He’s never been around children before; doesn’t know how to interact with them. Gyda’s taken to following him around and watching him as he works, and it’s disconcerting.

           “Well,” he says, “do you want to sit out here for a while? 

            She nods, tucks her feet into the hem of her nightgown. 

            “Athelstan, were there stars in Lindisfarne?” She pronounces the word carefully, like she’s not sure she’s saying it right.

He can remember them, very bright in the sky as they walked to Compline prayer, carrying candles. 

“Yes,” he says. 

“If you have a different god, how did they get in the sky? Everyone knows the gods put them there, from Muspelheim.”

He blinks at her. “God did make the stars. In the Bible, it tells how He saw the darkness, and created from it the sun and moon and stars.”

“But how? Where did they come from? Does your God have a Muspelheim to take the sparks from?” She sounds confused, and his mouth twitches in a smile.

“No, Gyda, God created them from the nothingness. _Fiat lux._ Let there be light.”

“Well, that’s boring. "

            They sit in silence, and after a moment he reaches for a stick to poke the fire back to flames. Gyda still looks worried about something, but he doesn’t want to press it.

            “I dreamed about a giant, come to eat us,” she says a few moments later. “It had red eyes, and it took me away from Mama and Papa and Bjorn.”

            Athelstan continues to stoke the fire. “Well, it was just a dream. I’ve not seen any giants around.”

            “You wouldn’t know one if you saw one, though,” Gyda says, voice grave. “You probably don’t have giants far away in England." 

            “No,” he says, “but if they have red eyes, I’d be able to pick one out. I’d hear it before it could get very far into the house.”

            She seems slightly comforted by this. 

            After another silent few minutes, she stands, and walks over to him. “Thanks,” she whispers, bashful again, and she gives him a swift hug before turning to hurry back to her bed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Today, Gyda asked me to teach you how to fight off giants,” Ragnar says, leaning against the wall of the kitchen and watching as Athelstan gathers supplies for dinner. “What would make her ask such a thing?”

Athelstan glances at him. “She had a bad dream, and I told her giants would have to get by me first, if it wanted to steal her.”

“Well, I can see why that might worry her,” Ragnar teases, and Athelstan glares. 

“She asked me about the stars in Lindisfarne,” he says. Ragnar looks up, and a flash of worry crosses his face. Athelstan sees it there any time his former life is brought up, as if they think speaking about it might send him running into the night. 

“Gyda has taken a shine to you,” is all he says. “She loves the stars very much.”

Athelstan isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean.

 A minute later, Ragnar leaves him there to ponder it.

* * *

Athelstan is awoken a week later, and he opens his eyes to see Gyda peering over him. “Come on, come with me,” she says, and he blearily stands, following her out of the house into the pitch dark night.

Ragnar comes round the corner of the house, carrying a lit torch. “Gyda has decided she wants to show you our stars,” he says, “And of course I can’t deny a lady her request.”

Bemused, Athelstan follows them the short distance to the beach front. A small wooden dock sits tied to it, and this is where Ragnar leads them. He offers a hand to his daughter into the boat, then gestures for Athelstan to get in. He cautiously steps off, sits on the wooden bench in the boat.

Ragnar rows them a short distance into the water, handing the torch off to Gyda who holds it solemnly.

“Since the beginning of time, Muspelheim is the land of darkness and desolation,” Gyda begins. “It’s all over fire, and the only ones who live there are the fire giants. It is guarded by Surt, a mysterious and menacing giant who prohibits anyone from entering the land.” 

The torch crackles, as if in response to her words. Athelstan glances at Ragnar, who’s looking at them with a twinkle reflecting in his eye.

“The Gods, after they killed Ymir, and created the earth, the sea and the sky, from his body, took the sparks from the fires of Muspelheim and cast them into the sky, to make the moon and sun and stars.”

She lowers the torch. “See, isn’t that much more exciting than just ‘a God made them because he wanted to’?

Athelstan nods, smiling a little. Ragnar is smiling, too.

“What’s your favourite constellation?” Athelstan asks, tilting his head back to look at the sky. The stars are blazing brightly, swirls and patterns and dots of light decorating the inky blackness.

“Frigg’s distaff,” Gyda says. “Frigg is my favourite. Look at those three stars there,” she says, and points at a line of three bright stars. “That’s her distaff, and she spins the clouds with it. She spins everyone’s fate, too, because she knows what will happen to us all. Only she doesn’t tell anyone." 

“In a great story, they call those stars ‘Orion,’” Athelstan says. “After a great hunter.”

“Will you tell me?”

Athelstan hasn’t thought about classical mythology in years. It’s been almost a decade since he read the _Iliad._ But he can see Gyda is waiting for him to reply, so he nods.

 

 

 


End file.
